Your Name, Please
by binnibeans
Summary: Arthur is enjoying this attention from this Alfred fellow, but he's not entirely sure of the other's intention.


**A/N:** For **usxuk**'s Summer Camp event!

Day 10: Period Piece (Yes, I did two.)

_Love clothing and culture from the past? This is for you. The fanworks in this theme must either take place before 1935 (right before the dawn of WWII), or be a throwback to that time period (i.e. them attending a Victorian costume ball in modern times). AU is of course welcome here (as it is in any theme). You can use any era pre-1935, no matter how far back._

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><p><em>London, England; 1806<em>

"Please. You must tell me your name!"

Something inside Arthur told him to finally just give in and reveal his name. The 18 year-old boy before him certainly wasn't relenting.

In any way, at all.

Arthur's father was currently playing host to a visiting American dignitary and, subsequently, his son. Arthur's father had, apparently, not bothered to mention he had a son – several, actually – to Mr. Jones if this boy, this Alfred F. Jones, didn't know his name. At first it had been amusing, not letting the other in on his name. Arthur practiced a small amount of power over the other, and he didn't at all feel like giving in so soon. The game had started in the evening after dinner, then moved to the parlor, and now Arthur was backed into a corner of his own room after Mr. Kirkland insisted that Arthur show Alfred about the manor. There had been something in Alfred's eyes that worried Arthur. He wasn't scared in the least. Maybe it was because he couldn't put his finger on just what he saw. Perhaps it was just that he was interested; captivated.

Now, in Arthur's bedroom, Alfred was close. Alfred was very, very close. Close enough where Arthur could feel the hot puffs of breath tickle over his ear, and he wasn't at all about to complain about that. Alfred was close, but Arthur knew by looking into Alfred's eyes that if he said stop, Alfred would cease. The only thing about the situation that scared Arthur was the intensity and determination that he finally identified in Alfred's gaze.

And he, Arthur, was enjoying it.

"Why is my name that important to you?"

Alfred grinned honestly. "So when I write to you, I know to whom to send it."

"Why would you write to me, of all people?" It was an honest question. Despite his status in polite society, Arthur wasn't terribly popular.

Alfred glanced to the desk, where Arthur remembered having left his bookmarked page of _The Affectionate Shepherd _lying open on his desk. His heart raced with fear. If Alfred took suspect over that page, of all pages, being opened and mentioned it, Arthur would likely be interrogated. With his poor communication skills, he could only imagine what would happen.

"_If it be sinne to love a sweet-fac'd boy, Whose amber locks trust up in golden trammels Dangle adowne his lovely cheekes with joy, When pearle and flowers his faire haire enamels; If it be sinne to love a lovely lad, Oh then sinne I, for whom my soule is sad._"

Arthur forced his gaze away, shame slowly claiming him. He glared, waiting for the ironic slew of inquiries from Alfred, but Alfred didn't … seem bothered by it. Rather, he was more insistent, after seeing all the questions jump on to Arthur's face. "I have amber hair, too, and quite the boyish face," he said. "Are you a fan of Barnfield?"

Arthur could have sworn his heart had stopped, but the second it started again it seemed to send blood only to his face. He looked back to Alfred, eyes wide. He was still cautious, though. "Y-you know … Barnfield."

"Not until I heard his work contained 'questionable content for a moral society'. Then I became a fan."

Arthur didn't recall Alfred moving, but he was suddenly even closer than before. Their chests were pressed together, and Alfred was trailing his hand down one of Arthur's arms before playing their fingers together under the lace fabric of their sleeves' hems. Arthur stared again, this time worriedly, into Alfred's eyes.

"Arthur. My name is Arthur Kirkland."

The grin on Alfred's face grew to a smile as he locked their fingers together. "How British."

"I _am _British!"

Alfred laughed, and Arthur's anxiety left him as he felt his heart start melting at Alfred's smile. Stupid American…. "I guess you _are_, huh? I'm American, sixth generation Finnish. That okay?"

"W-why—" Arthur croaked. "Why would you ask if that's okay?"

"I don't want you to hate me."

"I don't hate you—"

If Arthur could have gasped, he would have. Instead, he was being given quite a sloppy kiss and, rather ashamedly, found himself returning it until the need for oxygen became the higher priority. Both boys were blushing, and not a single coherent word passed through Arthur's mind. Instead they stared at each other for a few minutes. Grins, then smiles, decorated their faces, followed soon by soft laughter.

"Considering you haven't punched me, or pushed me away, that means you still don't hate me, right?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, I don't," he said simply. "I'm … rather interested, actually."

It seemed that Alfred was about to go on about something, but the falling of steps outside of Arthur's door sent a cold jolt of fright through them. Alfred stepped away as Arthur hurriedly grabbed the book from his hands, and tossed it to the opposite side of the room on the other side of his bed. He straightened his coat and hair, hurriedly gesturing for Alfred to do the same. It was just in time, as the door opened to reveal both of their fathers.

Some small talk ensued, but neither of the boys were listening properly, now getting to remember the feel of the other's lips on their own. Arthur's tingled, and he wondered if Alfred's also did. His thoughts returned just in time to see Alfred joining the other two men, to leave Arthur's room for his own to go to sleep.

"Good night, Arthur," Alfred said.

Arthur felt warm all over, hearing now, for the first time, Alfred say his name. He gave a nod of his head, making sure to keep his face a little more stoic than he was. (Which was, of course, not at all.) "Good night," he returned, then half a moment later added, "…Alfred."

Nearly jumping when his door shut, Arthur quickly shed himself of his tight, itchy clothing and went about extinguishing his candles and lamps. He slid in bed with his fingers to his lips, then turned on to his side to sleep.

The sooner he woke up, the sooner he could see Alfred again.

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><p>END<p>

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><p>I might expand this later. Iunno.<p> 


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